Tag Archives: city

Instead of Sleep

 

The city lights with their artificial amber

blare like a dog whistle all night long.

 

Don’t ask the questions you’re not asking;

what are answers but the temporal explanations we throw away eventually, or sooner

when we realize over and over again

how *stunningly* wrong we are.

 

This isn’t the clenched jaw of desire.

These are not the frozen muscles of fear.

 

I am not waiting for anything but daybreak’s commotion

to disrupt the stagnant so strong

it fills my nostrils with its heavy ozone.

 

I don’t want to talk, but I need to word.

 

They call out of their dreams

for water water in the red desert

and I drip it between their parted lips and onto their scrunched foreheads:

 

I am the sleepless rainmaker,

 

eyes exhausted of light in the dark-poor midnight.

 

I am the collarless watchdog,

 

biting at my own strange ankles

until I’m no longer a threat.

Advertisements